Symmetry is Key
by WolfKeeper101
Summary: My teacher gave us a FC (Free Choice) Writing assignment and I decided upon writing about Death the Kid. In this One-Shot, he's sick of the world being imperfect and himself because he can't make it that way. No OC's, no other characters, just a very depressed and extremely OCD Death the Kid.


The pristine and spotless wall, firm and sturdy, laid in front of the young Shinigami known as Death the Kid. Death the Kid's irises, being the color of gold and therefore being like droplets of liquefied gold drops placed perfectly in the middle of his inhuman eyes, staring at a mirror placed six feet on each side, in the middle of the bland and colorless wall behind.

The same eyes that provided his sight to see his lifestyle and only reason to live sighed at how imperfect and unbalanced the world and he, himself, was. The young Grim Reaper sighed, his charcoal colored bangs swishing down his paled forehead, his whole body the same color, like the color of the wall. Inhaling deeply, he glanced in the mirror, his right eye twitching continuously as he stared down the mirror with death itself for the reason for the sudden twitching of his eye lay in the reflection, the reason he called himself "asymmetrical garbage." Three white lines, the representation of a Shinigami, a god of Death, circled the jet black, non-symmetrical hair of his, but only on one side of his head, showing how he was not yet a full grown Grim Reaper.

Carelessly and recklessly, his head snapped forward into the mirror, and as he looked back into the now broken mirror, a small cut went across his forehead. As if being punched on one side of his cheek but not the other, an asymmetrical and unequal attack, a realization hit him.

Death the Kids voice being like velvet, but deep without a gravely effect as a rock with uneven edges may be, spilled out in a deadly tone.

"No, this can't be," his voice like a growl but not sounding like an animal, "_seven_! Seven years of bad luck! It must be eight. Yes, eight years would be better." his tone now in a disgusted and ungrateful manner.

Sinking to his knees as if the world was ashamed in him and he needed to flee within his own hollow thoughts, he gripped his bangs tightly. Death the Kid cursed at himself within himself for his ignorance. He broke a mirror, seven years of bad luck going to him. Seven, the most disgusting and trash like number in the universe because of it having the incapability to be cut in half equally vertically or horizontally, unlike eight, the most symmetrical number there is being able to do both.

Still sunk to the floor and on his knees like an anchor to the bottom of the sea, a thought occurred. Death the Kid was a God of Death, a Shinigami, and a Grim Reaper. Labeled as all of those, he wanted so much more, the most valued thing to him that he would trade even his own life for.

A perfect, symmetrical, and balanced world.

Quickly scolding himself for being so selfish and greedy, he dismissed the thought immediately. When getting up and going to a jar full of pennies, Death the Kid laid down three hundred and sixty five of those same pennies heads down, and speaking in a dreaded tone, his reaper eyes shaded with depression from the bangs of his imperfect hair, thought of himself as imperfect and even saw himself as such through the eyes of a Shinigami.

"No human is completely free of perfection. I will not take on malice for the urge to make anyone balanced and will take pride in this fact." He said as he started picking up each of the 365 pennies one by one for unluckiness. "But I will not defy the thought of good and evil maintaining equilibrium, in which both sides are balanced, all being in this world of imperfection."

It wasn't until Death the Kid reached up to up to sixty three unlucky days until he spoke again, pride now leaking into his voice. "I will work for a modeled world, where balance and preciseness is the law of all life." Kid exhaled deeply, picking up his hundredth unlucky day, knowing he had two hundred and sixty five days left until eight years. "Until then though, I shall be the Lord of this unbalanced land for symmetry, is key."


End file.
